Illusion
by Teta Hyral
Summary: Vincent, a dream, and things that are forever lost.... It's relatively short and a little open-ended....


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Illusion  


**By Teta Hyral  
[tetahyral@squaresoftrules.com][1]

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Author's note: I don't recall the exact events in the storyline of this game since I haven't played it for at least a few months, if not a year or more. So there may be a few discrepancies. Uh, and this story takes place many, many years after the end of FF7. Oh and the disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are the property of Squaresoft and I am not writing this for profit. So don't sue me. :-P

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A dream…

A tear…

A sigh…

__

"There was nothing you could do."

"I understand, but the pain—"

"I know."

"Really? Then why is there no solace for me?"

"That is a question only you can answer."

"And that is a response I have heard too many times…."

"Shh… calm yourself and forget."

A sigh…

__

A tear…

A kiss…

"This is the last, my love."

"You'll return, won't you?"

"No, never."

"But—"

"Never, my love. Goodbye."

"Of course. This was bound to happen to a wretched creature like me."

"Don't be bitter, my love. There is always hope in this world."

A tear…

A sigh…

A void…

Alone…

* * *

His heavy eyelids refused to budge as he slowly gained full consciousness. _No, please_, he thought to himself as he gradually became aware of the starched sheets above him, the soft pillow that cradled his tortured head. A gentle breeze entered the dark room through the window and playfully toyed with his long, dark hair. A lonely tear grew from the corner of his eye.

__

Please, don't wake me…

He stirred, and that was the last of his dream. The tear fell and wet the white pillow cover beneath his head. _That world is cruel, returning me to this one. This world cannot help being what it is…._

The lids of his eyes parted slightly. He could see surprisingly well in the dim light. It was true, they had adjusted to the dark while he slept, but his vision was unknown to the human race; it was the infrared vision of a sniper's technologically advanced equipment that, in a way, was inherent to him. Perhaps when he was a child, he would have marveled at the mere thought of having such vision. Now he knew the dreadful truth.

He… was a monster, a strange creature not fit to walk the same earth as did mankind. His being was a creation of man, a human experiment that survived and suffered with the anguish of being what he was. Nature had not expected his arrival. Nature had not been prepared to accept him. There was no place for him in this world.

Another tear fell. Was this the first time he had cried? Indeed, it was the first time since his new existence began, and it hurt intensely. The backs of his eyes burned with the pain of a thousand hells. _What kind of abomination am I? I can't even mourn properly…._

More than anything, his heart ached with an inconceivable pain, one that neither words nor the lack of words could begin to explain. Hojo had made a mistake when he had created his new specimen: he had no way to erase its emotional capacity. The result? An imperfect warrior whose personal emotions could override his master's orders. This specimen vowed revenge and found it sweeter than ambrosia.

But now….

Now what was there left for him? What was left for him in the world when the world would not accept him and the one person who possibly could was gone forever?

"Lucrecia…."

His breaths were labored, his very existence an incredible effort in itself. _Why did you have to go…? Why did you have to die?_

Vincent stared through blurring tears at his mechanical claw of a left hand.

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Why do I have to go on living like this?

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Life is so hard… when it doesn't have a purpose….

It was too true. Before, his life had meaning. Before, he was after revenge. Even after Hojo's death, he had to help his friends "save the world". In his sorrow, he blindly took on the face of a hero, as it seemed to be the path that followed the defeat of Hojo.

So it was that Cloud Strife and his colleagues came to Jenova and Sephiroth, and the foes were defeated. They were heroes, yes, and they were celebrated, yes. But somehow, in all the hullabaloo, people didn't realize that this reticent shadow of a man was one of those who assisted in the "saving of the world." They only saw the hand.

The "hand" had five fingers and a palm and worked as well as any other, but its peculiar hinges and metallic appearance seemed to cause all living things to cautiously back away from him, as if he were some sort of beast waiting to pounce on his next meal.

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Repellent, he thought to himself. _I am the ultimate repellent of life. Why do I live like this? Why do I continue?_

What kind of monstrous hell could be any worse than this?

Surely it would be better for me to die….

His lips curled up into a faint smirk. He never smiled, not since the day he was… altered. Strange, it was, that he had never showed any emotion except anger for so long, but then again, not so strange. Anger has its way of driving off all other emotions, even to the point of no return. Even now, he wondered if this feeling, this—emotion—was truly one of sorrow, of loss, of despair.

He shook his head violently, and a third tear fell. _A living weapon_, he thought to himself. _ A breathing, thinking creation ultimately meant to do harm unto people. Lucrecia, there is no hope for me… so why must you so ardently insist that there is? You were all I had, and now there is nothing in this world for me._

Nothing, not even Lucrecia herself, could save him now….

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Some people are lucky. I thought I was. I thought my joy would never end once I met her. How wonderful the memories were. But how cruel the reality. Now even my beautiful memories repulse me…

Damn you, Hojo. You have not only taken my life from me, you have taken my spirit… and my love. And in a blind rage, I killed you for it. But…

I ended your suffering quickly. I was kind. Your torture will pain me for as long as I continue to live….

He sat up and shook his head slowly, as if in a halfhearted attempt to loosen the grasp of pain's claws on his mind. But no. He should have known better.

Now comes the real question…. Will I continue to live?

He had tried—had been trying for many years now—to come to terms with himself, to find a foothold on this slippery cliff that he had slid down for so long. But he is only one man, and the world is not kind to those who lack luck and support. It had been very long since he had had support—Cloud and friends had long been dead, their adventure together now a saga used to entertain rather than to educate. He had even outlived Red XIII, whose clan still roamed lands far from this place. Of them, he was left. Because he was… engineered.

His eyes wandered over to where his only trusted partner laid beside him, cold and motionless. That gun had been with him since his days in Shinra. It could possibly mean his end.

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If I die, will I enter that world of my dreams? He lightly brushed his fingers across his lips, as if perhaps some remnant of that dream might have been carelessly left on them. But no. It was as if he was forcefully but simply being told to stop—told to stop believing in a future, to stop trying to continue.

He got up out of the bed deliberately as an old, fragile man and languidly proceeded toward the window of the hotel room. A fake iron stove was lit in the corner of the room, not producing any heat. A periodic wind blew in the window by the power of unseen fans. A vision of a perpetually full moon shone above. He merely blinked sleepily. The Gold Saucer was well-renowned for its extravagant decorations.

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An amazing display of illusion. Is this what makes people happy? I don't even know anymore…. My own world of uncertainty and illusion has forever been buried under the brutal reality of this world….

I used to believe I'd find her, and perhaps we'd return to the way we were before any of this happened. But that fate was not dealt to this… unfortunate pair.

Can I believe in the illusion that was my dream? I don't even believe in happiness. How can I believe in anything?

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"Don't be bitter, my love. There is always hope in this world."

He started and blinked hard at the sudden recollection. She had said that, hadn't she? After everything that happened, after being in such pain for so long, she still believed…. Believed in the power of the human spirit….

He leaned on the windowsill, and the rhythmic wind swayed his long, dark bangs back and forth like a pendulum, counting his endless wonder by seconds.

He contemplated people and struggles and celebrations and confusion and clarity and illness and health and enemies and friends and pain and comfort and war and harmony and sorrow and joy…. Somehow, they had places in people's lives, and somehow, even with all the struggles, confusion, illness, enemies, pain, and sorrow… many of them seemed to return and embrace life.

Perhaps his hair had counted more than a thousand swings before he stirred again, and even then, he only closed his eyes, leaned slightly out the window, and whispered into the false wind.

"Lucrecia, you have never lied to me. For your sake… and for ours… I will continue this cheerless existence. I will seek this thing you call 'hope.' And it is with this hope that I will make a wish… that when I return to you, I will have found that life which I seek.

"With these words, I leave you. Remember to welcome me upon my death, my love."

Elegantly, he stood and turned back to face the room. He picked up his crimson cape off of the chair on which it hung and swung it around his shoulders, clasping it around his neck. He shrugged slightly, feeling the weight of the cloth on his shoulders. Then he walked to the side of the bed where he slipped on his boots. He stared at the bedside table. It only took a few seconds for him to make his decision.

He turned, and, without hesitating, walked through the door and left the room forever.

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FIN

   [1]: mailto:tetahyral@squaresoftrules.com



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